Chapter Text
Norm stares proudly at Uptown Dialtowns reconstruction efforts. After Theoroars reckless explosion, then Norm and Mingus’ fight only allowing the fires to spread, the place has been a bit of a mess. But, as agreed, he's been doing his part in piecing back the remains.
He will never admit, not until the time comes and he needs to, that even were it not for his new title as Dialtowns sheriff, once all of this is done, he thinks he's going to stay.
Randy is a pathetic mess, sure, but a surprisingly likable one. Out of his paranoia alone, he's pointed out multiple things that he's been nervous about regarding the buildings around here, all of which ended up being completely valid concerns– weak walls, moulded supports, rusty pipes, things that it's good he caught now and not later.
They've been getting on top of self esteem, too, and with a whole lot of convincing, and a promise that they– Oliver, who was the first to offer, Gingi, who while it couldn't help much, it would do its best, Karen, who promised them she would come around more, and Norm himself –would all pitch in to pay for it, Randy got a therapist.
Karen, while a bit insufferable, is nice. She loves horses, which is at least something she and Norm can share, and sometimes he'll talk about his old life on the ranch. Before the Airforce, before NASA, before Callum. Hell, back when his mother wasn't using Crown Prosthetics canes, that's how far back it was.
She's absolutely amazed every time he describes the horses, their stables, how he cared for them, their wildly different personalities, it was almost funny. She was also a great listener, hardly interrupted like Oliver or Randy or Gingi did, which made her a nice person to talk about his old life to.
Oliver is just a great kid, Norm can remember him running up once they got out of the fire, Norm, Mingus, and Gingi, and the kid had run right up and told Norm how happy he was that he had taken what he said to heart. And Oliver had hugged him, and told him that he looked 'absolutely sick, I wish I could've recorded that for you’, and turned to tackle Gingi in a much tighter hug.
Not once since Norm had gotten back, either, has he asked about what's under the bag, because he knows it's probably an uncomfortable topic, even with how curious he clearly was. He will never tell anyone how much that's convinced him to stay.
Gingi is…
Gingi is Gingi.
It's the one who convinced him not to shoot Mingus. It's the one who gave him some hope for himself. It's… it's the one who took him on that insane, wild chase after a year of waiting outside of his shack, and showed him the good of Dialtown.
It's practically the spitting image of Callum.
They've all got a bit of him in them. He thinks he can understand what Mingus means by his influence being everywhere.
But none of these people have even met him.
And yet, Randy has his paranoia, his anxiety that he had often overwhelmed with his brighter side. Oliver has that more excitable part, always moving, locked in a perpetual motion that he almost never drops out of. Karen has that same tendency to be enraptured by one topic– horses for her, medical procedures and mechanics for him.
And again, Gingi is almost identical.
“You know, you can always visit him again. Maybe you can't get back his old memories, but with enough effort, maybe you can get him to make new ones.”
Norm still remembers what it had told him.
Hence why, now, he stands in front of Callum’s room at the retirement home. The gold plaque on the door, his name engraved into it, stares at Norm. Like a challenge.
One that even he is almost too scared to face.
He grabs the handle and turns it before he can talk himself out of this, opening the door and stepping in. He takes his hat off, and after a moment of consideration, his paper bag follows.
Still, seeing Callum, phone to face, feels so strange.
“Sir… Callum. I…” He takes a deep breath, stepping a bit closer, sitting on the other chair, that old radio on the table between the two.
“...Sergeant Allen..?.” He startles, looking over at Callum, who has his metal hand raised to his head, held around one of the little ‘horns’ that he had remodeled for Halloween and then never changed that hold his receiver in place as he stares at Norm. His voice is rough and quiet, and he clearly hasn't spoken much recently.
“Callum.” He responds, after probably a moment too long. The other almost seems to sit up straighter, shifting, the cord tail draped over the arm starting to lazily wave.
“Norman. It's… been so long, has it not? I… I believed you were dead.” He says it like it's surprising even to him, lowering his head for a moment, a quiet click indicating he turned off his sensors. Norm reaches a hand over the table, frowning and tilting his head.
Norm doesn't say anything, though Callum puts his organic hand over his, holding it tight. He wouldn't be surprised if he's getting a headache– Mingus had said he was hardly lucid, before, which must make it a shock to suddenly have ‘new’ memories snap back into his head.
“I didn’ die, I promised yah I'd be back to give yah yer birthday gift, didn’ I? Sure, I'm some fifty years late, but I'm back.” Norm jokes, trying to make light of his presumed death and not overwhelm Callum too much. And Callum laughs, bright and yet quiet, looking back over at Norm with his head tilted in a smile.
“I guess you did, didn't you?” He says between quiet laughs. Norm smiles and puts his hat back on, though his bag stays held in his free hand, the other held by Callum on the table.
They sit there in a comfortable quiet for a bit. Norm takes the time to look around the room. It's a cozy little place, warm toned and homey. It feels so wildly different from the overly cold purples of town hall, or the dark and horror themed spookshack, or the bright funfair, or the rest of Dialtown in general.
There are a good few plants in the window, which has a white curtain that still allows light through. Four of the plants have tape on their pots, but there are more scattered around, one of which is hanging and drapes vines over the edges of the pot.
“...So, Norm, anything interesting you could tell me about yourself? You've still got an organic head, you must have some sort of interesting tale to that.” Norm winces, reaching under his bandana to rub at the back of his neck.
“Well, uh, it isn’... Th’ mos’ flatterin’ tale. Fer either o’ us. Mostly fer ya. Ya sure ya wanna hear it?” Callum does seem a bit hesitant, but he nods, crossing his legs and laying his tail over his lap. Norm sighs, leaning back and closing his eyes.
“Well, back ‘fore the Dialup, there was a wormhole discovered off in space. All o’ th’ things we had sent out had never responded, so eventually, it was agreed t’ send out a person. At th’ time, I was one o’ NASA’s best pilots, ‘nd at th’ time, you, Crown, were th’ president o’ th’ United States.” He feels the hand holding his clench, tightening its grip, and he's glad that he's sitting on Callums left rather than his right.
“O’ course, as ya can tell by us knowin’ each other, we were close friends. I was practically yer guard, always by yer side. I was one o’ yer most trusted. So, when th’ ship needed more space fer fuel fer th’ long trip, only one person could go.” He takes a deep breath, pausing for just a moment.
“Y’ sent me out. Sent me alone, on what we were sure was a death wish. I volunteered, and we agreed that if anyone would survive, it was me. I… I do think we were right, nobody else woulda kept sane, but I still wish…” He trails off, silence overcoming them besides the constant whirring and clicking of Callums mechanics and the static of the radio.
“...I'm sorry, Norm. That– that was stupid. I can't fix it, but I'm sorry that I could've ever thought that was a good idea. I should've called off the mission, not sent somebody out.” Callum apologies. He can't even remember it besides what Norm has told him, but he feels like he needs to apologize.
“It's not really… yet fault. Not anymore. Yer not President Crown as much as ya are Callum.” The other tilts his head, like he doesn't really understand what that means, which is fair. ‘President Crown’ was more… Possessive. More controlling. He always believed he was right unless he was directly proven wrong, and then he would find some way to make himself right.
He was still kind, he still had that bright laugh and still cared, he only ever wanted what was best for everyone, but eventually what was best got mixed up with what made him feel like he was right.
Callum is similar, but less… less overpowering. Less like a force that can never be met, a force that even God Himself had feared, because he did His job better than He did. He had said that, when he came for that promised omelette and Norm had asked about Callum.
Callum speaks slower, more caught up in his mind than he was before, he seems more like he must've been when he was younger, which would make sense, if his memories were reverted to during the war. He would've only been, what, 21? That's around the middle of the war. He would've hardly been old enough to drink, and he went from being president to that.
Norm really is starting to feel like he doesn't want to think about this.
His eyes drift back to the plants, aftera moment. They must've been something to keep his focus on. Something to keep him sane, during his time here.
“...I can see you looking at my plants, you know.” Callum starts suddenly, seemingly relieved for the change in subject, and when Norm looks over he's also looking at them, “They probably need water, soon. I've been foggy this last week, so they haven't gotten much care. You came in at a good time, actually.” Norm looks away at the offhanded mention of Callums previous state, before hearing the other move and having his hand tugged on, prompting him to stand up.
Callum brings him over to the window, grabbing the watering can on the windowsill beside all of the plants and motioning to them.
“These, here, are all of my plants. Four of them are named, four aren't, but all of them are important. I only named the ones I did because I only had so many names floating around up here.” He lightly taps the side of his head, moving to water the hanging one first.
“This one up here is unnamed, but if you're curious, all of the named ones have tape on them. If I were to guess, it's so I wouldn't forget which is which.” At the offer, Norm looks down at the plants, turning the ones with tape on them to face him.
‘Milton’. Of course he'd have one named after his vice president. Even if he can't remember him, Milton was important. He’d explained once that Milton was one of the first people he'd ever had to fall back on if he needed help, the other two being Marla and Norm himself. So of course, even in his amnesia, he'd have named one after him.
‘Marla’. Not really surprising, that his wife was important enough to get through the amnesia. She was nice. Norm and Milton had always kind of hated each other, but he and Marla were good friends.
The most showy plant, front and center, is ‘Mingus’. He scowls, though the name sure fits with how the thing is practically demanding attention.
The last one is a little cactus. It's further away than the rest, which makes it look a bit awkward, but Normal still gently picks it up and turns it to read the name.
‘Norman’.
His eyes widen, and he places the plant back down, turning slightly to see Callum watching him, his head tilted in a small smile.
“I suppose you never really left my head.” He starts quietly, and Norm blinks. Callum still continues to water the rest of his plants.
“Your name felt… Safe. Angry, and willing to cause harm should someone get too close, and it felt distant, though not in the way it was blurry, it just felt like you had gone far, far away. But it felt safe. So I gave the cactus that name. Because, despite the spines,” Callum pauses, and places his metal hand in the soil, pushing down about three inches, “it can't really harm me if I'm not stupid with it.”
He stops to water the cactus, and places the watering can in the gap between it and the others.
Fuck, he'd been so alone that he'd taken to analyzing the personalities of his plants. Norm, however hesitantly, puts a hand on his shoulder and drags him into a hug. The touch is foreign, by now, to both of them, but Callum still returns the hug, running his metal hand through Norms hair while the other twists in his bandana.
After a moment, a moment of quiet calm, Norm hears a quiet tsk as his hair is tugged on, and Calm pulls away, walking to stand behind him and carding through his hair.
“We need to comb this. Your hair is full of dust and– is that wall fragments..?” Callum tugs sobering out of the mess that he can only assume his hair has become, and wraps his arm around to hold it in front of him. It sure is just… a chunk of wall. How did that even get in there? He’s always wearing his bag.
“Next time you come around, bring a comb and a hairbrush. We're going through this.” He startles slightly, turning a bit to face Callum again, who's staring up at him with crossed arms.
“...Next time? Ya would like t’ have me over again?” Callum stares at him for a moment before letting out a bright laugh, covering where a mouth would be with his hand, and Norm can't help the embarrassed blush that covers his face. He pulls up his bandana to cover his mouth and tries to cover his cheeks, looking anywhere but Callum.
“Of course I would, Norm! You've kept me more lucid than I've been in months. I don't want to lose that.” Months. It's been years, and he considers it mere months. Fuck, Norm cant in his right mind leave Callum to eventually snap back to that.
“I think I have a few friends that would like t’ meet ya, if I could ever bring ‘em.” Callum straightens, beaming despite the lack of facial expressions, and nods.
“Of course! I'm always open to visitors. Bring your friends, come back by yourself, just come back.” Norm pulls down his hat, covering his face– and the blush covering it –and looking away. Callum laughs at him, dragging him into a quick hug before letting go.
He'll come back. He grabs the bag from the table, where it had been abandoned, and moves his hat to shove the bag on. Back to that somewhat suffocating feeling and inhaling his own hair half the time. He really should cut it, but he actually quite likes it long. Even if it does come out of the bag and drape over his back and shoulders.
“I'll be back in a few days at most, Callum. Don’ miss me too much.” The others tail excitedly waves behind him while Norm leaves, and he can't help but silently match that excitement. He can easily hide it behind the bag, thankfully, he doesn't think Oliver would ever stop teasing him if Norm came back actually showing emotion.
The walk back to uptown– or, at least, the part that's being repaired at the moment, since the retirement home is awkwardly shoved between the two –is rather long, and annoying, but when he eventually finds the scaffolding and sees the half-melted but still glowing sign of the Spook Shack, he sighs and speeds up a bit.
Of course, he starts running at the sound of yelling, turning the corner to the area they've been focusing on to see Oliver and Randy driving their only forklift, which usually only Norm can drive, and for good fucking reason considering nobody else in their shitty little construction group can be trusted to.
Jerry– the only other halfway competent person here besides Karen –is trying fruitlessly to guide them, while the aforementioned painter watches from beside Tango, who notices Norm and just gives him a thumbs up.
He buries his head in his hands, grumbling and muttering a prayer for his own damned sanity, having to be around these idiots constantly.
“A’right, Oliver, Randal, get off th’ damn forklift, Jerry, stop sittin’ right in front o’ ‘em! I left ya for an hour.” He yells, getting no response besides the forklift almost instantly shutting off and Jerry rushing to wait a bit more to the side.
This is an absolute mess. At least they're all in one piece, he supposed. He'll pull Oliver aside later, he thinks– the guy had already seen Norms face, albeit accidentally and followed by a multitude of threats, but Oliver's the one that he's most comfortable with, and who he thinks would like meeting Callum most.
Ah, well, for now, he should probably ensure nobody dies.